


A Tradeful Miscommunication

by WizzyPieHigh9



Series: Damian Acts - Batfam Reacts [2]
Category: Batman - All Media Types
Genre: Confusion, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Mental Anguish, Mental Breakdown, Mental Health Issues, Mental Instability, Miscommunication, Triggers, Updated with Fanart
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-02
Updated: 2019-11-12
Packaged: 2021-01-05 19:34:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,738
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21213914
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WizzyPieHigh9/pseuds/WizzyPieHigh9
Summary: "Oh, thank you Mr. Wayne! Are you sure now that you wont miss your little fella?""Nah, are you kidding? That 'fella' was never much use to the family. I'm sure that you alone will enjoy him more thoroughly than we have for the past time we've had him."-In his mind, people were as fragile porcelain. So easy to break from a simple swipe of his sword. So easy to break from words. The littlest puncture from a blade positioned on the right spot on a person's body could easily kill a person. However, he didn't think in all of his mind that a person could break from the inside out, like he was right now.-Shifting his weight limply he began to maneuver his way out of Father's 'endearing' grasp. He was going to try to make a run for it. It was desperate, but he had to get away.





	1. The Trade?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Oh, thank you Mr. Wayne! Are you sure now that you wont miss your little fella?"
> 
> "Nah, are you kidding? That 'fella' was never much use to the family. I'm sure that you alone will enjoy him more thoroughly than we have for the past time we've had him."

Crawling through the vents was turning out to not be as difficult as a task as he once thought it to be, however, it was a very messy one. There was just dust everywhere! If Pennyworth were to catch him dirtying his clothes, well, he would be due for a tongue lashing. Just because Pennyworth cleans the Manor spotlessly, doesn't mean that he cleans out the ventilator system regularly. Neither does it mean that Pennyworth, or Father for that matter, want him crawling through the air ducts cleaning it for them with his slacks.

Coughing at the dust particles that seemed to stir up at every move he made, he continued his way through the endless tunnels of galvanized steel, bypassing fluffs of what he believed Grayson referenced to as, 'dust bunnies'. Although, ridiculously enough, they neither resembled or reacted like a hare of any kind he had ever seen before. And believe you me, he had seen a lot of hare's. They were, at one point, the unfortunate partaking of his training at the league. He particularly remembered vouching for the little fuzzes one time, and it was the last, for the outcome was much worse then he anticipated. His instructor at the time had not thought too kindly of his fondness for the little animals. So, in turn he was instructed to exterminate dozens upon dozens more of the little critters just for the training in the art of 'heartlessness'. Needless to say he stayed quiet after that.

Why, you ask, was he, Damian, the son of the 'great' Batman, on his hands and knees dragging himself through dusty vents anyway? Well, it was simply because he was avoiding Father due to their previous <strike>argument</strike> disagreement. Apparently, he can't quarrel with school children on the apt way to incapacitate someone, permanently.

"tt", Well, that's what Father thought he got in trouble for. Like he was dumb enough to talk about such potent methods of slaughter to others. Why give them the chance to learn those manners and hurt others? Those imbecile's told the academies authorities that messed up story because of his former past attempts at such violence. Unfortunately, they bought it, thinking he was serious when he lacked control, and lashed out in an undeniable threat to bring physical harm to the idiots when they were teasing him relentlessly about- never mind, it wasn't important to dwell on what the inept morons said about him. The annoying thing was, was that the Principal, because of the former tendencies toward brutality, didn't even ask for his side of the story and suspended him for a week. Needless to say, that made Father real happy. In the end, the prejudiced minds of impressionable children won, and it wasn't even the first time they had done so.

Those bullies gave the indisputable threat and impression that they intended to do harm to him right then and there, and if he hadn't lashed out when he did, he was sure that they would have. He could take on men twenty times his size, however, he didn't think he could take on ten boys, ten times his size all at once as Damian Wayne, or even as Robin without difficulty, not that he would ever admit that.

"Would it ever get better?", he thought to himself.

Of course he knew he had the impulsive act of giving threatening remarks towards others, but, he never really meant them, at least not anymore. Why wasn't he allowed to defend himself? He remembered it once being a daily defense measure at his time at the league. Everyday he was put under rigorous physical training. His body and, what nobody knows, his mind, was put under strain and pressure until his was molded into the model of what his Grandfather and Mother wanted him to be. Now, he was being reshaped and modeled but again to be something Father wanted him to be. He didn't think he could please everyone. When he couldn't handle the duress that his mind was put under, he would break, and consequences were consequences. Whether he was blamed for it by meaningless school children and berated by Father, or severely beaten by an iron rod, it still all hurt.

It seemed that it was wrong to defend himself as Robin, and as Damian Wayne, because when he did, he got in trouble for it. Also, it seemed that it was wrong to defend himself as Damian al ghul; especially now that he was no longer attached to that branch of his life. However, what about just Damian? Could 'just Damian' defend himself against the woeful attacks he receives from school, home and patrol?

Brooding, he rested his head over an open air duct. Attempting to only take a short reprieve to the excursion to his room, he heard an ongoing conversation about the room below him. Hearing Fathers voice resounding through the metal grate on the opening of the duct, he stopped and listened.

"Perfect. Ms. Smither's, I can't tell you how thankful I am for the trade. I've been looking for a baby like that for a while. Also speaking of perfect, this baby right here's perfect."

Peering through the blinds of the metal frame, he could see Father bouncing a bumbling infant of, he would have to say, two years of age. "tt", Thinking intensely, 'What could Father possibly be doing holding a salivating, sloppy child who doesn't even know that its not proper etiquette to suck on your thumb like a lollipop. W<strike>ell maybe at least not while other people are around</strike>

Suddenly hearing another voice, a lady with brown curly hair replied in a dignified tone.

"Oh, dear Mr. Wayne, that's very sweet of you. It's really such an honor that you want to trade with me, me!? With me of all people to trade our dearly beloved 'children'. Or, almost children. I must say though, getting back to formalities. I have been looking for a beauty like yours for a while now, though I have heard that it's been having a bit trouble?"

Wait, what? Trading, children? That made no sense. That can't be right, nor true. You can't trade one person for another. Well at least not legally, Can you? Also, whom was Father trading?

"Oh, yes about that. I'll be completely honest, it's has been more than just a bit of trouble. However, I have already worked about the bumps and edges over the past year or so. The problems that we have been having are all but nonexistent, but, if it gives you any trouble within an unreasonable amount of time, I'll be glad to help out."

Staring in unbelief through the curvature slits of the metal he didn't even want to comprehend what Father was saying. Him? ... Father was trading him. All the facts, and words that were being said, it just all added up and made sense. He had been with Father for a little over a year, and residual problems that had been occurring had been being dealt with and, with his chest begin to heave he couldn't understand why this all was happening.

Is this the reason Father had been trying so hard with him as of late? So that he would be presentable for a trade? Was this even legal? When your rich enough, maybe anything might be legal. Wanting to giving in to the rush of tears wanting to tremble down his face, he pushed it aside for the logical gathering of his thoughts. That boy, the boy that Father was so tenderly fawning over at that moment, was who was going to replace him. That boy, was going to be the person that he could never be. More so the robin that he could never be, and, the son he could never be.

Deciding to listen to the rest of the residing conversation, he had anger rise up in his mind. If he was indeed to be traded off like a nothing piece of trash, he wasn't going to be left holding the bag of the residual pieces of his life, he was going to take the bag and run with it.

"Oh, thank you Mr. Wayne!" said the sickly sweet voice, "Are you sure now that you wont miss your little fella?"

"Nah, are you kidding? That 'fella' was never much use to the family. I'm sure that you alone will enjoy him more thoroughly than we have for the past time we've had him."

It was his fault, it had to be. Just look at the way Father was fawning over that kid. Father had never looked so happy. He had thought that the relationship between him and his Father had been steadily improving; maybe Father was conditioning it that way? Maybe Father made it look that way and was secretly planning this in the background? Or, maybe he had pushed Father and Alfred too far. Maybe they both saw an avenue of opportunity, and decided that if they had to take care of a child they rather it be someone that was responsible, and useful and, better? Sighing he laid his head in the palms of his hands. What was he going to do? He couldn't help but feel the stinging sense of betrayal at the false sense of tranquility and homey atmosphere that had been provided for him in the past year. Father wouldn't even miss him? Not even a little?

"Alright then Mr. Wayne, I think that we have ourselves a deal. I can't trade today, however, how about twelve o'clock tomorrow afternoon?"

Now the residual despair buried itself within the pit of his stomach and the burning anger bubbled up to his face flushing it in red. With a quivering lip, and combination of sadness and resentment he whispered, "Tomorrow? Ha...Ha...ha... Just you wait Father. I wont be here. Like I told you before... I can take care of myself."

With that, he headed off to his room to construct an absolute 'flawless plan'.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *sips coffee* *spits it out* *looks at screen* I dOn'T REGurt MEh AcsHIons...(._.) ( l: ) ( .-. ) ( :l ) (._.)
> 
> ಥ_ಥ  
... When you are about to post: ᕙ(⇀‸↼‶)ᕗ  
... And you keep finding mistakes: ᕦ(ò_óˇ)ᕤ


	2. A Lost Robin

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In his mind, people were as fragile porcelain. So easy to break from a simple swipe of his sword. So easy to break from words. The littlest puncture from a blade positioned on the right spot on a person's body could easily kill a person. However, he didn't think in all of his mind that a person could break from the inside out, like he was right now.

Grabbing things from around his room, he shoved everything that he would need to get him through the next couple of weeks into a brown corduroy bag. That included some extra changes of clothing, soap, and reluctantly the hard cash he had collectively saved from his allowance. He didn't want to take anything else. He didn't want any reminders of what this life was. It was wonderful while it lasted, but, just as with his experience with Mother, maybe the things you think are good, turn out not to be good. Then you move on to something else, and your 'wonderful' doesn't last. Not even his phone or laptop was coming with him. If he was to be self-dependent, he was going to do this on his own. He wasn't going to rely on anyone.

Also, he wasn't too sure that Father hadn't put trackers in his phone or laptop.

In all actuality, he hadn't given the idea as to where he would go much thought after he fled the Manor. All he knew was that he was going to be as far away from Gotham as humanly possible. He wasn't going to be traded off like some animal. Stupid as his unplanned jaunt may seem, he didn't think that mentally he could stand to see his 'family' again. Even in an accidentally brief passing, it would just hurt too much.

The deep-seeded gloom that had been buried deep within the recesses of his person bloomed within his being but again as he thought about his 'family'. Everyone was in on this weren't they? They all couldn't stand him, could they? So they were all probably colluding in on this to have his dispensable self traded off for someone of finer quality than he could ever be. Somebody that most likely understood emotions and could express them. Somebody that was innocent and carefree. Someone that didn't have the river of blood staining their hands like he did.

In his mind, people were as fragile porcelain. So easy to break from a simple swipe of his sword. So easy to break from words. The littlest puncture from a blade positioned on the right spot on a person's body could easily kill a person. However, he didn't think in all of his mind that a person could break from the inside out, like he was right now.

No wonder he was being discarded, he -from thinking about it- couldn't understand how anyone could stand to look at him. He had to appear to some as a monster. He had brutally killed people without a care in the world. Stopping to stare at the palms of his hands, he could visualize the red-sticky plasma of so many specking the inner most pores of his skin and nails. The traces of them were all over his skin. With his chest begin to swell, he concluded that whether or not it was really there, his hands were dirty. They needed to be cleaned, and now.

Dropping the bag beside his bed with a loud thump, he tore his way to his on suite bathroom.With his body shuddering from anxiety, he locked the door behind him. With his heart thumping so loud like it was about to burst from the escalating pressure, he quickly shoved his hands under the running water of the sink. Using soap and all forceful intensity he could apply, he hammered away at the sin that coated his palms. He deserved to feel the raw pain and anguish that was so little compared to the pain that he had caused to so many. It was all his fault...

Allowing the tears he held back to flow freely down his face, he remembered what those imbeciles at school had said. It was true that he would only ever amount to a pile of worthless scum. He would never amount to anything in this world even remotely worth existence. For all the reprehensible, contemptible, lowlife that had been disembodied verbally by him, he was lower than that of them all combined. Father was probably ashamed by him. Mother most likely got rid of a vermin that only stood in the way of her happy long-fulfilling life. Especially once she figured out that he was no longer abiding by her rules or her games.

The worst thing that had been said however, was that he should not ever been born. This wouldn't have hurt too much, for only if it weren't true. No, he wasn't any means wishing a death wish upon himself, -he had too much pain to make up for-, but in a sense this was the truth. He really shouldn't exist. Maybe because his usefulness has been used up, he doesn't exist, not in Mothers eyes, nor in Fathers.

In all honesty, he didn't know how long that he had been standing there. Apparently however, it was long enough for him to become desensitized to his surroundings. The loud pounding on the door accompanied by shouting could barely be heard over the sound of his own labored breath. He needed his hand's to be clean. That's all that mattered.

Clean hands.

The water overflowing unto the floor could be dealt with later. So could his drenched clothes. All that mattered was getting his hand's cleaned. With his chest heaving even harder, all he could think about was that it was important to pay for his wrongs. Even now, he could see the once former microscopic pieces of plasma now coating his skin in bright red splashes.

Through the fog that invaded his senses, the shouting of his name became louder. Couldn't they leave him be? He was busy, very busy.

What seemed to be only milliseconds later was someone taking their arms and pulling him to their chest, away from the sink. With un-understanding anger burning within the palms of his hands, he tried to yank away from the unyielding arms to continue purging his skin of the wicked deeds that he had once committed. He had to clean his hands. However, he was only met with a sense of flight and being carried out of the room he was once accompanying in. The room that he only seemed to understand at that moment, the only room that offered a comforting suggestion at hope, at cleansing...

With the strength of a rag doll, he hung in someones arms allowing the sobs that he had so valiantly preserved to stay hidden within beginning to break free. Amongst his turmoil he could feel a comforting hand rubbing the wet mops of his hair and the soaked shirt on his back. In the distance everything seemed to be in a fog. Whilst being helpless and not in control of his actions nor emotions, he could hear muffled voices that sounded as if they were miles away under water. Then suddenly when he endured the sense he no longer could take in orderly-timed breaths, he felt a pinch at the side of his arm and everything went quiet, so very quiet. Alas, it was peace...

Unknown to everyone however, behind the scenes, Damian in his now peaceful bliss had broken his own fragile porcelain wall. But with porcelain, the cracks can be fixed... but is it ever the same?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Me telling myself I can do dis and finish da story: (~˘▾˘)~  
My cat walks across meh laptop...kdjhasdkfjkalsfk : ༼ つ ಥ_ಥ ༽つ
> 
> Also I got lost in the world of Fanart,... (°Д°) ...  
*Looks through fanart*  
*5 minutes later*  
*Looks at the time* ! ಠoಠ ! "WhAT! ThReE HoURs hAVe pAsT?


	3. Beautiful Boy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Shifting his weight limply he began to maneuver his way out of Father's 'endearing' grasp. He was going to try to make a run for it. It was desperate, but he had to get away.

It's hardly believable that it's only been five hours since this whole fiasco had started. It's funny how such a simple thing can really change your perspective of a person. More specifically, the perspective of your son.

That uneasy feeling still lingered within the Manor ever since he walked into his Damian's bedroom that morning. Thinking back, he knew that when he walked in, something had to have been wrong. Being the detective he was known to be, he knew that normally for a fact, when anyone -He mean's anyone- is even so much as in walking distance of his son's room, there he would be right at the threshold of the door waiting for the resounding knock. This even happened at night, it was a rare occasion in which Damian was in a deep enough of a sleep to not be disturbed by someone intruding his room.

Nonetheless, after not hearing an immediate response to his knocking, he had presumed it to be his son still sulking and entered his son's bedroom anyway. Just having gotten off the phone from from Damian's school, some detailing information of the schools once 'former principal', Mr. Hanson had been unexpectedly received. The school expressed concerned that his son had been a victim of bullying and had been suspended for it. Apparently, many parents had called in as of late about the fact that their children were being suspended on false charges. Therefore, it was looked into by the schools administers. Sure enough, some of the rowdier students were taking the bribes for better grades from Mr. Hanson. They were then going out and beating down on some of Gotham's wealthiest to tarnish the children's reputation, as well as the parents.

Allegedly, this former principal had some grudges against some of Gotham's high-standing member's of society. Well that's what it seemed, because that's whom he was mostly targeting. He had come to talk to Damian, to see if that's what had happened, and if it did happen that way apologize. While Bruce Wayne was unsure as to why Mr. Hanson had done what he had done, he was to make sure that Batman would find out. More importantly Batman would find out tonight, well so he thought he would.

Seeing that Damian was not in his bedroom, he had turned his head towards the sound of water running. That's when he had saw that there was water pouring in from under the gap of the bathroom door. In that moment his heart had taken a plunge. It had taken all of his strength for him not to rip the door off of its hinges. Rather, he had grabbed one of the emergency key's from down the hall, and had come running back to the horrific scene whilst screaming for Alfred. However, whatever chaotic circumstance's that had been flying through his mind, he wasn't expecting the sight that he had seen. He didn't think he could ever forget it. That pain, no not that pain his son was inflicting upon himself. Rather the pain that had been etched in his boy's face, the pain that had webbed through the tear's coursing down his son's face. The way in which his Son had collapsed in on himself, and how he had been disassociated with everything and anything around him.

Holding back his own emotion's for so long, a tear slowly trickled down upon his own cheek unto Damian's. He crushed the side of his face against the top of his Damsy's now dry head. His son's clothes were so soaked from the overflowing sink's water that he had changed Damian into some fluffy pajamas while Alfred had gently toweled dried the boy's hair and face. Now, they both, him and his son, were sat on the bed. Well rather Damian was laying in his arms, while both of them were shrouded in blankets. Courtesy of Alfred... Thinking of which, just a few moments before, Alfred had come in to check the seeping bandages on Damian's hand's. They were so cut, and so openly raw that there was no way around of not putting bandages on them.

He couldn't help but establish the fact that, in part, that this was his fault. Maybe if he had only told, and expressed to Damian just how often he is proud of him, and how much he love's him, that, in anything his son does, he will always, and forever love him. Maybe just maybe, his son would have come to him earlier before having a mental break down over the fact of what some, what he can agree with, idiots called him at school. Yes, through the screaming escapade that followed after pulling his son away from the overflowing sink, Damian accidentally confirmed the school's theory. Damian, maybe without even knowing, had been sobbing about how he deserved his punishment just like those 'idiot children' had said.

If he had learned anything from this daunting experience, was that on the outside, Damian was an intimidating boy of mass-destruction. However, on the inside Damian was really as fragile as anyone else, and even more so than any of his other boy's. Damian was as porcelain. Oh yes, he pretended to be tough, brave, infrangible... In reality nonetheless, it was so clear now, Damian needed to be handled with care. Care that this boy had never received. Surely not from his Mother, and as of late, from his father.

Looking down into the sleeping face of his child, he could almost physically see the cracks and fissures that now ran so openly upon that once tough skin. The hurt that had been inflicted, not just now, but in the boy's past, it ran deep. Running his hand longingly over his son's one-two many times scarred jawline, he could be see how the cracks ran all the way to his boy's heart, where they now were splintering the quivering existence of his young life.

His baby was too young for this pain. Too young. His beautiful baby. His little miracle that he never knew existed, but wished he had.

Tightening his grasp, his own chest heaved under the thick fog of sadness that was emanating from his son, "Oh Damian," he whispered pressing a kiss to his son's temple, "do you know just how much I really love you..."

* * *

<Here is a [ link to the video](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=kW94W6Uf_CA) song that I am basing off of for this fic. (I want to take the time to make this very clear, I did not in any way shape or form write this song, nor am I taking credit for it. I am using the audio by Paul Weinfield and I am under the presumption that the song lyrics are by John Lennon. Please Enjoy （*＾-＾*）)>

It was really hot.

However, not in the 'I'm too hot from all the blankets' kind of way. It was more of a nervous bubbling heat within his mind that was now making the trickling beads of sweat pour down his face unto his arm. Now becoming more aware of it, his arm, along with the left side of his body, was horizontally squished up against someones chest. The continuous thumping of a heart beat was reverberating in unison with his own heart. Also, the heated exhalation of someones breath was tickling the hair's on the back of his neck.

He wondered briefly if he had been kidnapped. Nevertheless, that exited his mind as quickly as it had entered when he opened his eye's tentatively.

It was just his room. That's all.

But. Why?

Oh...

OH...

Then, blinking with ferocious intensity, it seemed that all of a sudden it then just wasn't his room, it was his worst nightmare.

Like a wave crashing over his head with vehement brutality, rapid memories began to play like a flickering movie over his eyes. At the terrible remembrance, it excruciatingly caused his breathing to hitch, and the breath he was exhaling to come out in rapid pants. Having a wave of heat flash over his body leaving him even more so clammy to the skin, was also undesirably disgusting as well. Throughout the turmoil of a prior unfinished panic attack, his body betrayed him. He hiccupped resonant sobs from humiliation and agony at how he was deceived by Father, deceived by everyone, and how he had, and was, reacting to his foolish misleading. In his swarm of an unforgivable lack of self-will, someone buried his head into the crook of their neck murmuring quiet word's of comfort. He knew without a doubt that on what had happened prior to now, it had to be Father. Or well, former Father.

Even though he hadn't been exactly given up as of yet. Father had planned to give him up. So he had already given up on him in his heart.

For what seemed to be a tremendous amount of time, wave's of nervous heat washed over him from every unbearable cramp his heart gave. It were as if he were drug down with lead, and his mind heavy as sand. As much as he wanted to pull away right then and there, he just couldn't. All he could do was soak up all the comfort that he could selfishly obtain. In the following accumulating moments, all that this vast universe seemed to contain was himself, and the anguish he was inexcusably pouring from his soul. In the tears that he shed, cries that he gave, and sweat that seemed to drench off him like a tidal wave, throughout it all, he felt Father's arm's encompassing him the whole time. Through whispering words in the disorienting haze that seemed to be enshrouded in his psychotic episode of hopelessness, he surprisingly could feel love.

Somebody loved him?

Wishing himself to be absorbed into the lulling serenity encompassing around the chest of his father for forever he buried himself even farther into the space between his father's ear and chin. He didn't deserve this. He was only thinking of himself. He shouldn't force this pain on others. He knew what was to come. It had to be done, and preferably now. It had to be done before his mind was changed and he entered into a world of hurt. This kindness wasn't to last forever and he had to get away while he still had the chance. He couldn't bear to feel that disappointment of being pulled away from the only family he had only really loved, and was learning how to love from. Even though Todd would say that Bruce isn't the best example to learn from. Bruce was his Father, and he loved him. He didn't want to leave, but he didn't want to be made a fool out of and be traded off for some young birdbrain who isn't far along out of his nappies. So, he had to leave.

Shifting his weight limply he began to maneuver his way out of Father's 'endearing' grasp. He was going to try to make a run for it. It was desperate, but he had to get away.

However all of a sudden, Father's arm's tightened their hold around him even tighter, making him unable to move anywhere.

"Damian...shh,... stop.. it's ok..."

"No, *hugh*, itftz's knotz... I *hughc* kneadz leavvz..."

"No, you don't have to. It's ok. Your allowed cry... ... Your allowed to cry in front of me..." 

"Nos..." he shrieked, cringing at how much of a weakling he sounded like. 'tt' He couldn't even form coherent syllables.

"Damian, just listen ok?, I got a call from your school today. I had just found out that you were being bullied. That's how you became suspended, right. I came in here to talk to you, and found you out of it, and hurting yourself." Then with a hand gently brushing through his hair, he listened as Father mumbled, "Why didn't you tell me. You know you can tell me anything? Right. I don't want to ever see you hurt yourself again because of something someone else says."

*hugh*

Oh, no... Father must be upset with that incident of him scrubbing his hands. If that's so he must have hurt himself pretty badly. He should have had more control than this. He was just trying to wash his hands. That's all!

"Damian,..."

...

"I noez... Iyz didsn't *hic-hungh* meanz-"

"Damian, I know... I just want you to know that you can come to me when you feel upset. Don't let your frustration's get to you, especially in the manner it did." Father interrupted him with a kiss now being pressed against what he now realized were his bandaged hand's.

Oh.

Looking down at his hands, he realized he did hurt his hands. This was bad. Nonetheless, he's had worse. Especially in panics attacks that are more severe than the one he had today.

"Does,... Doez dtis meanz yourzs'nots gozing toza'gets rid of me..?" he nervously asked while burying his guilty head into the crook of his own neck.

...

Feeling Father stiffing he winced.

He shouldn't have asked the question.

Why couldn't he have kept his mouth shut and let the moment linger for just a moment long-

"Where in the world did you get that idea from?"

Not too sure on how to answer he decided to ultimately tell the truth. It couldn't get any worse...

"I waszen the venzs wzens Iyz herds you tazlking twoz a layde, named... I think smathers... or...*hic*"

"First off, It's Ms. Smither's." Father said with a raised hand while pulling his head from it's hiding place putting it back onto his chest. "...and second off why were you in the vent's?"

"Trying to hide..." he said while trying to hide his head again but to only be stopped when Father pulled his chin up to gently look him in the eye.

"From me?"

... *hugnh*

"Oh Damian,..." 

Having his chin released, he was quickly embraced back into the warm chest of his Father.

"Please don't climb in the vent's again. You wouldn't want to give Alfred a heart attack now would you? Not to mention giving me one? Now as for Ms. Smither's, I believe that conversation you heard was about a trade. We were going to trade off-"

"ME!"

"-a car..."

"A car?" he asked incredulously while looking up at Father stupefied...

"Yes, a car Damian." he heard Father's exasperated voice say. "I traded off the Red Buick for a Red Roll's Royce. How could you possibly think I could get rid of my baby. Is that what upset you? Along with the bullies at school? I need to make myself more clear from now on..."

"Baby... You mean *hnugh*. You wouldn't trade me for that, sniveling infant that you were so, crooning over?"

"Ms. Smither's child? Is that what you thought? Heh! I should say not! That child is Ms. Smither's pride and joy. I bet Batman couldn't pry that child from her, let alone Bruce Wayne. And besides, why would I want any other child when I have you?"

"Oh..." He replied feeling silly now. He didn't know what to really do.

He was almost at the other end of the spectrum... happy? He wasn't sure, however tear's beginning to pour down his face but again. But he was so happy? Why was he crying when he was so glad that his Father hadn't abandoned him like Mother had?

"Fa-therrr..."

"Damian,... close your eyes..."

"wha-" *sniff*

"shhh..."

With an arm wrapping around him more comfortingly, Father began to him a melodic tune followed by whispered words,

"Have no fear."

A song?...

"The monster's gone."

"He's on the run, and your Father's here."

Then soon after, Father began to gently rock him in a soothing manner.

"Beautiful, beautiful, beautiful,

Beautiful boy..."

"Beautiful, beautiful, beautiful,

Beautiful boy."

"Before you go to sleep,"

"I say a little prayer."

"Everyday, in every way,"

"It's getting better and better."

"Beautiful, beautiful, beautiful,

Beautiful boy..."

"Beautiful, beautiful, beautiful,

Beautiful boy."

As the lulling voice of his father continued there was a sense of peace that he wanted, needed, for so long...

"Out in the city, driving away,"

"I can hardly wait,"

"To see another Wayne come of age"

"But I guess we'll both just have to be patient"

"Cause it's a long way to go"

"A lot hard foe's to row,"

"A long way to go,"

"But in the meantime,"

"Before you cross the fight,"

"Take my hand,"

"Life is what happens to you,"

"When you're busy making other plans,"

"Beautiful, beautiful, beautiful,

Beautiful boy..."

"Beautiful, beautiful, beautiful,

Beautiful boy."

"Beautiful, beautiful, beautiful,

Beautiful Damian..."

Nobody would mind if he were to fall back asleep would they? Oh, oh well, he was already asleep anyway.This time however, his Father was there. Now, maybe in this vast universe, it wasn't just him anymore in his pain. It was Father too. As he stood there helping to hold the broken shards of porcelain in his father's life, Father helped to hold his too, and maybe together, between the both of them, they can keep themselves intact...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *cough* *hack* *coughhhhhhhhhhh*
> 
> ....I think procrastination is like the flu,... (⌐■_■)

**Author's Note:**

> Thankyou for everyone who has taken the time to read this story! (づ￣ ³￣)づ  
I really do appreciate it! No comments or Kudo's are necessary! However they are always welcomed and greatly appreciated!  
-  
Now, Major stuff!  
*Gets Bat-Mega Phone*  
I DO NOT OWN DC!  
I DO NOT OWN BATMAN OR ANY CHARACTERS AND/OR STORYLINES! MONEY IS NOT EARNED IN ANY WAY SHAPE OR FORM!  
IM BROKE... YUR WELCOME!!!  
THE ONLY THING GAINED BY WRITING IS THAT I'M DOING WHAT I ENJOY!  
... Which now saying it. It just say's that I like to make characters suffer... ༼ʘ̚ل͜ʘ̚༽ ...  
(I DONT MEAN IT LIKE DAT... I just want dem to feel better. Dat's all... Dere's so much angst and from what I know, HARDLY NO COMFORT in Canon!)  
-  
Don't worry if you see this story on any other site, I've started to Cross-post... YAY!  
*Inner anxiety struggles* ಠ⌣ಠ  
-  
If you are so inclined... You can follow my Tumblr.  
https://wizzypiehigh9.tumblr.com/  
Or WizzyPieHigh9 / ForgetCanon
> 
> ʘ‿ʘ  
*Alfred Glare* (A glare proven to be more powerful than a Batman Glare) KEEP IT CLEAN THOUGH!!! OR I SHALL USE DA POWER OF THE BAT-BAN BUTTON!  
-  
(ﾉ◕ヮ◕)ﾉ*:･ﾟ✧ ✧ﾟ･: *ヽ(◕ヮ◕ヽ)  
-  
I do not own the random Derpy text faces. Btw... Just thought I'd point that out.  
-  
This Story Currently has Two sources: \ (•◡•) /  
1) I think I used wiki for one point to find out about vents.  
2) https://genius.com/John-lennon-beautiful-boy-lyrics (Lyrics) - I don't take credit for this song.  
This Story is "Completed"... \ (•◡•) /
> 
> 💕 Also as a side note, the experiences and feelings that Damian felt in this story are at most not the way to properly deal with such issues. He got HELP. Get help if you feel this way. No one should ever feel that way. Everyone's life is such precious gift worth living... Just wanted to say that... 🥰
> 
> YOU ARE LOVED!


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